A Visible Darkness - By Jonathon King Page 0,60

elevators she said the M.E. was giving a preliminary time of death of 4:00 A.M., which matched up with the 911 call.

When we got outside, Hammonds was still talking with the crime scene supervisor, going over the Caprice. When Richards shook her head he never blinked, just went on.

“The trunk lid was popped with a ball peen hammer, just punched it through,” Hammonds said to all three of us when we walked up. “But it looks like he missed the false bottom in the glove box.”

He held up a plastic evidence bag that held a white, printed bank envelope.

“Six hundred-dollar bills. Still crispy,” he said. “The techs are going to run the prints they found inside along with the ones upstairs, but a lot of them looked smeared. We’ll try to match them to prisoner files on the forensics unit first. Maybe we get lucky.”

No question had been posed, so I shut up. If Richards remembered the hundred-dollar bills, she didn’t say anything. When Hammonds left, both detectives walked over to Diaz’s SUV.

“Hey, amigo. Thanks for the help, eh?” Diaz said. “We gotta get back to the shop.”

“Call me when you hear something?” Richards said, and the look was deeply uncertain.

26

I was still leaning against my truck, looking up at the high tower of Marshack’s condo building when my cell rang.

“Freeman,” I answered.

“Yo, G.”

I told him I wasn’t with the government.

“Yeah, you said. You know where D.C. Park at?” said the voice of the leader of the three-man off-limits crew.

“I’ll find it.”

“Meet us there, man, we got somethin’ for you.”

The crime scene techs were still working the Caprice. I asked one of them for directions to the park and left.

It took me thirty minutes to get back to the zone. I could feel a tingle of adrenaline in my blood. Maybe we get lucky, I thought. The park was a small square of green along Northwest Nineteenth Street. There were a few transplanted palms and willow trees, a multicolored plastic jungle gym and three worn picnic tables. When I pulled up the place was empty except for the table in the far shaded corner. This time there were four of them.

I kept my hands out of my pockets and crossed the open grass and when I got close enough I recognized the fourth as the Brown Man.

The crew leader nodded when I stepped up. His two friends stood and took a few steps back. The Brown Man kept his head down, only looking up with his eyes.

“So, Freeman,” said the leader. He had absorbed my name, filed it. “We did some of our own investigatin’ an’ come up wit some information might be good.” He put an emphasis on the word “might” and cut a look at the Brown Man when he said it.

“The Brown here works his gig down at the dope hole, but you already know that,” he continued. The dealer hadn’t moved. “He been there forever an’ know everybody, hear everything, ah he say nobody been talkin’ bout killin’ no grands over in the off-limits.”

The Brown Man shook his head and said, quietly, “Tha’s right.”

“But he say he got somethin’ on your clean bills but he need to come over here ah see who his information goin’ to an’ not be seen talkin’ to no G by any of his dogs, you know what I mean?”

I had an idea.

“I also need somethin’ in return,” the Brown Man said, finally looking up at me.

All I could do was nod.

“If you after this motherfucker ah get his ass, he don’t come back on my ass, right?”

I nodded again, no vocal promises.

“Cause he one scary motherfucker ah I don’t need his crazy-ass trouble, right? I’m losin’ steady money on this, but I might be losin’ a lot more business, or so say these homies,” he said, looking around.

“You have a customer who uses new hundred-dollar bills?” I asked.

He waited. Looked around, avoiding eye contact with the others.

“Junk man,” he said. “Big scary lookin’ dude always be pushin’ his cart round town. He been buyin’ dope for a long time. Dimes an’ eight-balls and shit. But last year he start buyin’ bundles and payin’ with new Franklins. First time he give me one I had my boys run the bill down at the store see if it any good. After that, they all be clean. Most of them new.”

I didn’t say anything, picturing the thick figure of the man, draped in his dark winter coat, looking up into my eyes when